What better time to blog than when your kid is screaming her head off in her crib? She sounds like the devil when she screams. It's impressive. She has been crying all morning, me holding her, me not holding her. If she would allow herself to sleep, she would be so much happier. Instead she wails. The lady will be blessed with a lot of energy someday. I imagine going to the gym or out for a run will be a must do on her long list. Yes, yes, these are the good things to think about right now, instead of wondering what the neighbors must think of your parenting skills. She is a tough girl, in all ways. I totally get how writer and mom Heather Armstrong ended up in the loony bin after having her first child.

I love my days with G. And I am also pretty scared of them. How can I entertain her, teach her, get her to sleep, get her to relax, get her to play by herself, get her to stop trying to pull my laptop screen back, and keep her alive another day, while also maintaining my own sanity? It's rather intimidating, the responsibility of it all. And if I fail, even if for just a second, and show my frustration with a curse word or a cry for help, I immediately feel bad, like a bad mother. I totally understand why my Mother used to throw up her hands and say "I am quitting motherhood!"

I have started singing the Hail Mary when I start feeling uptight with a squirmy, sleepless G. I figure the V.M. may know a few things. Being the mom to Jesus couldn't have been easy. But then again, "no crying he made," so maybe it wasn't that bad.

My girl is nine months tomorrow. She walks across the room. She pulls herself up. She giggles when her dad runs in and out and in and out of a doorway. She loves her mama. She hates peas.
Today my heart is way bigger than I ever knew it was. Or maybe it grew bigger in the past nine months. It is bursting out of my chest. This/G makes me a better, person, more sympathetic and quicker with a smile to a stranger. I wonder if it keeps growing as she grows? I dunno if I can handle that.

June was my last post. It's October! Can you even really say you have a blog when you post so infrequently? I am one of the many who start a blog only to have it fade away. And here I have so much important stuff to say! Like:

My kid is so cute.
and
My kid is so smart.

I had a good day with her though. She napped. In her crib. For more than 2 minutes. It was amazing. I had time to rid our bedroom of many, many dust bunnies. The bunnies were breeding all over the place. It was surely hazardous.

Anyway, today at 8 months she napped an hour in her crib and this was totally amazing to me. I clearly am not a Ferberizer. I am fairly certain G would take the Ferberize challenge and poop all over it. We already know she can scream for hours, and hours, and drive us to the drink. So we have pretty much decided at this point just to look for small victories like a nap in the crib and a swept bedroom.

G was an inconsolable newborn. She cried a lot: at night, in the morning, in the swing, in the rocking chair. There was very little we could do to help her no matter what we tried: a new hold, a new room, a new toy, a new song. Nothing worked. T and I would noticed, however, that there was this spot in the corner of her room where she would look, over my shoulder, behind me, where there was nothing but a blank wall, but when she looked on this spot, she would stop crying and just look at it. Sometimes she would even smile at the spot. T and I decided that that must be God back there, her old buddy from the womb, a familiar presence comforting her in her new alien world.

These days, G doesn't cry nearly as much and for the most part we can console her. She is becoming more and more connected to us and to the earthly things around her, her block toy, her purple blanket. It is those things and us, now that she goes to for comfort.

T and I sit around a lot and just talk about how perfect G is. The word miracle used for a baby really is no stretch. T and I had little to do with her creation. Babies come from somewhere much better and bigger than us. But as she gets older, even just a few months, and she is starting to understand the world, I wonder if she also starts to lose, little by little, that connection to that bigger, better place?

She no longer looks to that spot in the corner of her room for comfort.

G fell off the counter sitting in what I thought was a totally immovable foam chair. If I hadn't been screaming when I saw it, I would have been impressed with the girl's strength. A trip to the er confirmed that G is fine and that I am officially a crazy, frazzled mother who has no idea what to do with all this love for her kid. After that horrifying experience of watching her fall off the counter far from my reach, I have no idea how I will last the rest of my life with this super sized love that makes me feel as though I may just self-combust.

I made my husband turn off Gray's Anatomy. I couldn't take the poorly acted story line about a dying kid. I cried. My cousin, another new mom, says she cries at the commercial where the kid is lost in the train station and can't find his mom. It's a "Don't Smoke" ad which she says is killing her. In my three short (or very, very long, depending on how you look at it) months that I have been a mom, my heart has grown to the size of the universe. It's achingly large. It's crippling. It's what I was warned about but had no idea about until now. I now feel what every good mom must.

I was unfriended by a "friend" on facebook. Pretty low, huh? With all the people friending everyone and their sister and their ex-boyfriends and their aunts' ex-boyfriends, and...you'd think the whole friending thing had lost any real meaning anyway. I feel pretty bad to be unfriended. Was it something I wrote? Once upon a time, in the 90s, we were real friends. It seemed only natural that today we would be facebook friends. What would make her suddenly want to unfriend me? Was she still upset that I got roses from the leading man in the musical senior year and she didn't? Or that I set her up with a horrible prom date that same year. (Totally unintensional, I promise.) What was it so many years later that made her go, "You know. She really poed me when she didn't call me back in 95 when I was really homesick." It's just weird.
And sadly, it bums me out. I am a 33 year-old mother of G, employed, with a clean bathroom and frozen homemade spaghetti sauce in the freezer, yet I can still so easily feel like that nerdy high schooler seeking solace in the library where I could eat my lunch alone without having to face the tables of girls in the lunchroom who were all so much cooler and had so many more friends than I.